Sweet Dreams, Irene

“Zoe Freespirit,” she said.

“I’m trying to manage some balanced coverage over all of this — and believe me, it’s hard. Do you recognize any of the people in this coven? I think most are kids. I need to talk to them, if at all possible.”

She glanced at the photo. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable just giving out names even if I knew them. If any of these people come in here, maybe I could have one get in touch with you — if he or she wants to.”

I must have looked defeated, because she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Could you at least tell me if you’ve seen the young man whose name is already printed on the flyer? Has he come in here?”

She studied the photo now, and then began laughing. It was a rich, rolling laugh. “I don’t believe it! Yes, he’s been in here. Trying to discourage business.”

“Was it in connection with the young girl next to him — Sammy? I’ve met both of them.”

“Yes, yes. She was in here one day a week or two ago, with some other young people. Jacob came in and threw a fit. Tried to get her to leave with him. She wouldn’t, and he started telling her off. Finally, I had to ask him to leave. Little snot waited right outside the door. Sammy saw him out there and I think she took pity on him — left her friends and went outside with him.”

“You’re certain he’s the one?”

“Believe me, not a doubt in my mind. This kid is no witch. And the kids in this photo are not Satanists. Whoever made up this flyer just doesn’t know what he or she is talking about.”

I looked at my watch. “Look, I’ve got to run if I’m going to make my deadline. But I appreciate your help. Maybe I’ll come back some time and really do some shopping.”

“You’re welcome any time — but you’re not an Aries, are you? You’re a Leo.”

I blushed and nodded. I left wondering if she had just made a lucky guess. I no more believed in astrology than the man in the moon. But there was still something unnerving about it all.

MY SPEED on the computer keyboard that day nearly matched Mark Baker’s. I put together as fair a piece as I could, still raising as many questions about the allegations as possible, and quoting Jacob, Sammy, and Zoe. I wondered to myself if the readers would have any faith in an assertion made by someone named Zoe Freespirit, owner of an occult supply shop.

With the story finished and at the mercy of the editors, I cleared off my desk, then found Stacee and went over a couple of things with her. I was going to let her try to cover some of the political events I knew I wouldn’t make it to — there was just too much to follow up on at this stage.

I said good-bye to Lydia, who was on her way to dinner with Guy St. Germain, a former hockey player who had settled in Las Piernas. They had kept steady company since the summer. I bit back a moment’s envy of them. I walked down to my car. The sense of depression I had fought against all day started to press in on me again. By the time I got home, I felt tired and ill at ease. I hadn’t spent very many nights alone in my house since Frank and I got together. He knew my fears and helped me cope with them, while still letting me work out for myself how I was going to overcome them.

Cody’s warm greeting helped lighten my spirits a little, and I decided that while sleep was needed, a short run would help my mood. It would be dark soon, so I hurried and changed into my running clothes.

I did some stretching and headed out for a tour of the winding streets of my neighborhood. The air was cool and autumn leaves crackled under my feet. With each step, I felt better. By the time I got back home, dusk was turning to darkness. I was on a much more even keel. I opened a can of cat food for Cody and went in and took a shower. I went back to the kitchen and made a bowl of soup from a can. I like making my own soup from scratch, but soup from a can is sometimes just what the doctor ordered. This was one of those times. I indulged myself with lots of crackers, some of which I floated in the bowl, thinking that I was glad Frank wasn’t there to see me eating like a kid.

The phone rang, and when I went to answer it, I noticed the answering machine light flashing, indicating a message. I’d listen to it after the call.

It was Jacob.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m okay. My dad is mad, but I think he believes me. I couldn’t stand it if he thought I was hanging out with a bunch of Satanists or something. He’s worried about the election — oh, I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“That much I would have guessed, Jacob. By the way, I talked to the woman who runs Rhiannon today.”

“Oh.”

“Cheer up — she supports your story, even said that you’re not in the coven and that she remembers tossing you out of the store when you tried to pull Sammy out of there. It should help.”

“If people believe her.”

I decided a change of subject was in order. “How’s the journalism class?”

“Oh man, I love it! I mean, we don’t do really exciting things like you — you know, it’s just school stuff — but it’s fun. I’ll get my first story in Monday’s school paper! I saw the proof copy. I wrote about this school play; not a review or anything, kind of an announcement — you know, where to buy tickets, that kind of stuff. But it was so cool to see my name on the byline and all.”

I smiled, remembering my first byline — on a story about a game our high school girl’s volleyball team had won. “It’s quite a thrill, isn’t it? When the paper comes out, save a copy for me. And don’t forget to start a string book.”

“A what?”

“A collection of all your published stories. Later on, you use it to show someone samples of your writing — an editor, or someone hiring you for another publication.”

“Okay, I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll be showing it to you someday.”

I laughed. “For my interest — don’t ever look for me to be an editor. I wouldn’t want the headache. I like what